just don't
by fiesa
Summary: Days that started like this one were bound to carry on in the worst way possible. Drabble- Anderson, Dredd. More of the first than the latter.


**just don't**

_Summary: Days that started like this one were bound to carry on in the worst way possible. Drabble- Anderson, Dredd. More of the first than the latter._

_Warning: Just in general. Oh, and – drabble. _

_Set: Story-unrelated._

_Disclaimer: Standards apply._

_This one's for Rika08. I hope you'll like it. _

* * *

Cassandra Anderson hated days like these.

She woke up early, covered in sweat, her pulse pounding in her ears. _Hello nightmares. _They came and went as they pleased but it always was the same story, one way or another. She had long ago accepted them as a part of her – still, it did not make it easier when they came. Shivering, she rolled out of her bunk, showered, dressed and grabbed a nutrition bar on her way to mission office. She collected her _special _assignment (which consisted of fairly normal patrolling duty orders) and made a detour to the locker rooms to grab her stupid helmet and Lawgiver and when she stepped outside Dredd was already waiting for her.

The air over Mega-City One hung heavy, thick and solid like a blanket. The dull buzzing in her head wandered to her temples and decided to stay there. Their bikes cut through the summer heat like a blunt knife through leather. Dredd was silent, as usual, and she did not mind the least. Occasionally it was nice, running patrol with him, almost always a tad dangerous and most of it interesting. City sounds buzzed in her ears, city scents assaulted her nose – Cassandra tried to relax on her bike. The little head wind her speed created was better than nothing. As so often, she divided up her attention: half of her mind was fixed on the streets in front of her, half of it she allowed to wander. She only realized she was drifting in Dredd's direction when she felt something cool and familiar, unyielding and strong, and jerked back immediately.

"Over there," Dredd's voice resounded in her helmet receiver as he turned his bike into a side street. Swiftly, she followed. It was just another normal street, full of normal people doing their normal duty on a perfectly normal afternoon. And damn was it hot. Her hair under her helmet was plastered to her head and she could feel beads of sweat running down her nape and into the collar of her uniform. The second she stepped off the bike, she swore, she'd take off that blasted thing. She hated the helmet with a passion that seemed inappropriate – but it _did_ interfere with her psi abilities, and once or twice it had cost her precious seconds in a fight. Psi judges were at their best when they had a clear field of vision – in her case, a clear field of mind – and Cassandra hated not being at her best. From the small alley they emerged onto a lively main street and suddenly her danger senses flared in alarm. Tensing, she reached out with her mind – found noise, blurring voices, blurring images, the tell-tale signs of a crowd in commotion – and cursed inwardly. Just what she needed right now.

Faces passed in a blur. Cassandra, following Dredd's lead, kept a close eye on the crowd that had gathered at a street corner not far from them, and brought her bike to halt next to him.

"You take the lead," he told her.

She couldn't decide between glaring at him and actually refusing to do anything. Choosing option number three, she took off her helmet. Dredd frowned, his typical _You'll get yourself killed one day walking around like that_-frown. He obviously decided not to say anything, which was just as well. _For him_, Cassandra thought vengefully. Her hair was plastered to her head wetly. She shook it like a wet dog shakes away water drops. In her mind, the commotion grew in intensity as soon as she took off the helmet. And then a woman walked around the corner, unsuspecting, and found herself face to face with a dozen men, and Cassandra tensed. Backing away, though, the woman did the only sensible thing and switched to the other side of the street. Other passers-by were giving the group a wide berth. Checking her Lawgiver, Cassandra did not turn to check that Dredd was following her as she squared her shoulders and started to walk towards the crowd of people.

In the end, it just proved to be her greatest mistake.

She should have known. Ten to twelve men, ranging between early twenties and late, dressed casually and even a bit too colorful. One of them carried a banner, each one of them gave off the distinct feel of having consumed alcoholic beverages in greater volumes, their voices were loud and uninhibited. It was one of those kinds of gatherings that were like a spark in dry tinder, like a lightning strike on a hot, dry day out on the Cursed Earth: with the only difference that there was nothing to burn down out there whereas in the city everything – and everyone – was on fire a tad too easily. Law had a number for those kind of potential threats, as it numbered everything that didn't run fast enough: danger class three. Young males between fifteen and twenty-six, full of adrenaline, alcohol and stupid ideas, unable to use their heads. _Thanks a lot_, Cassandra thought sarcastically as she approached the gathering and settled her Lawgiver into her arms more comfortably.

"What is going on here?"

She just glanced a man in the middle of the crowd, spread-eagled on the ground, while the others seemed to be – screaming? Laughing? Yelling? – All of it. The overwhelming feeling of carelessness, aggressiveness and overflowing emotions hit her almost physically. Fighting down the urge to bite her lips – a nervous habit left from the Academy – she stopped, just a few inches away from the one she quickly identified as the leader. She was smaller than him by far. Refusing to turn around – she could _feel_ Dredd somewhere behind her, though it still was too far away for her liking – she repeated her question more sharply.

"I asked, what is going on here?"

The guy in the middle of the circle lifted his head and she caught a glimpse of grey eyes, blond hair and a face that would have been attractive had it not been covered with red, one man was counting down loudly and did not seem to notice her question. The banner-carrier just shook his stick, a thick, wooden pole, in a fight it would come in handy as a weapon. _What the fuck? _Cassandra couldn't sense any real violence, but the man on the ground, the red stuff on his face, the jeering crowd and the grating count-down made the atmosphere so thick with anticipation she could barely sense anything else. She reached out-

"A female judge!" One man turned around and grinned dangerously and she could almost _see_ the level of adrenaline rise to infinity. "Look at her, guys!"

From there on, it all went down.

…

Forty minutes later she was still seething.

"Don't," she ground out between her clenched teeth. "Just _don't._"

Dredd threw her a glance, eyes hidden behind his visor, the rest of his face the same impassive mask she'd always known him for. His voice was equally emotionless, perhaps a bit more strained than usual. His mind was a steel barricade.

"It's too late, Anderson," he told her. "Get over it."

His usual passive shrug angered her even more than on other days. She glared at him and hissed down her mike, hoping he'd feel the sharpness in her voice from the speakers of his helmet intercom.

"This shouldn't have happened."

"How do you want to prevent things like that?" He shot back. "You won't ever. No use crying over spilt milk."

His calmness made her want to grab him and shake him until his teeth rattled and his bones shook. She entertained herself with the image of him groveling on the floor. Her headache was even worse now, had crept into the back of her skull and was hammering away at her brain. And it still was incredibly hot. She felt the sweat run down her forehead, plastering her uniform to her body, and wished for a shower. _Calm down, Anderson._ Her voice of reason was overruled again.

"There should be a law against this. Something. Isn't there _something_ already? It can't be that this hasn't happened before…"

Realizing she was ranting she shut up but it did not make her half as embarrassed as usual. Her fury was still running high, blood pumping through her veins thickly. Dredd – that _bastard_ – just shrugged.

They reached Hall of Justice ten minutes later. Without a single glance back at him – and not feeling guilty at all for it, for once – she stalked off towards the locker rooms. Behind her, she felt Dredd's shields give way - whether it was intentional or not she could not say - and he gave her a mental equivalent of a smirk.

_Don't laugh, bastard, _she thought back at him furiously.

His shoulders began to shake. It was not as if he could talk to her in her mind – but Cassandra caught the images of the crowd, and her own face in the middle of it, surprised and terrified and embarrassed beyond reason. The sense that was uniquely Dredd's in her mind glowered with unconcealed amusement.

_Never seen a stag night out before, Anderson? Was he a good kisser, at least?_

God, she would _kill_ him.


End file.
